Empathy beyond Measure
by Writer Awakened
Summary: Man's greatest treasure. It isn't easy to love and have lost, and Harry knows it. Luna knows it too. HarryLuna ish. Set at the end of Deathly Hallows, so there are some minor spoilers. [Complete]


_Empathy beyond Measure_

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Author's Note: Set after the final battle of _Deathly Hallows_. Some spoilers for the end of _Deathly Hallows_.

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The din of the celebration rang through the castle below him. All through the night, the witches and wizards in the halls below were celebrating the triumph of good over evil—they had won, they were safe, that was what was important. They were celebrating _him_, and he knew as well as they did the magnitude of what he had accomplished, even if it hadn't quite hit him yet. He had smiled, rustled through the crowd, talked to a few people, and for a few brief moments, free and unchained, he had been happy—happy without any regrets or fears, a happiness he'd not known for years.

He felt old. He had heard many people on many occasions say it in many different ways, but they all said the same thing: He had experienced things that the average wizard wouldn't in his entire life. He had heard people talking about him like he was Superman, like he was Merlin himself, as though nothing was ever difficult or trying for him. After all, he had won. He had survived then, some seventeen years ago, and he had survived now. He was above everyone else. He had won.

It still didn't seem real. It was a dream, all a dream—a good dream, mind, but a dream nonetheless, and surely he'd wake up soon enough, fumbling for his glasses, and realize that nothing could ever be that simple. It still felt like a dream—a long, never-ending dream, detached and empty, as though something intangible had left him. Even looking at his hands, even looking up into the black sky, up at the full moon blazing a hallowed white and silver, it didn't seem real. It couldn't be. It wasn't true. It was all a dream.

Furthermore, a dreamy voice coming from his right.

"Harry?"

Harry had picked a quiet hallway to stand in the castle, an isolated place and a small balcony where he could lean and look into the sky. It wasn't as quiet as he had at first imagined, or so it seemed when he heard the familiar voice.

"Ah—Luna?"

"Yes, it's me," Luna said. Harry craned his neck and he could see her standing behind him, gently swaying from side to side, her figure faint. Only her face was clearly lit, with her fairy-bright eyes and two silver crescent moon earrings twinkling brightly, a stern contrast to her dirtied, ruffled robes. Luna stopped abruptly at Harry's side and turned to look out into the night and the dense forest beyond. "Such a beautiful night tonight. Fitting, really, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, almost automatically, turning to look at her and turning back to the night. "It really is."

"Do you still want to be alone?"

For a moment, nothing, and then, "No, I'm all right."

Luna walked to Harry's right and stood against the stony railing of the balcony, leaning forward, and for a moment, it appeared to Harry as though she might fall until she righted herself.

"I thought you might want some company after you relaxed a bit," Luna explained. "It must be lonely standing up here alone."

"Yeah," Harry said, off-handedly, and for a moment he almost considered asking her to leave, that it was going to be too difficult dealing with her at that moment, and then he thought better of it, that now wasn't a time to be telling anybody off.

"I'm glad you're all right," Luna said. "I knew you would be all right. We've all been cheering for you, you know. I figured you'd want someone to talk to. It's really different talking to someone and having someone come and talk to you."

"Do you get a lot of people come 'round to talk to you?" Harry said, knowing the answer already, immediately regretted saying anything the moment the words left his lips. He turned his head to look at Luna, who was still staring out into the sky, up at the moon, idly twirling a strand of her blonde hair—almost silvery under the light of the moon—in a finger. Knowing most people, Harry expected an argument in response, a witty comeback, a storm of footsteps trailing away, but instead Luna only made a faint _hmmmmm _noise with her lips and thoughtfully tipped her head slightly to one side.

"No," she said at last. "I like talking to people, but usually I have to talk to them first. I've a reputation for being a bit odd, but I'm sure you've figured that out by now."

"Ah."

"But I'm glad I've met so many nice people here—like you, Harry. My father always believed in you, he knew you were a real good person. I wonder how he's doing right now."

Harry hadn't the heart to tell her about his little 'adventure' in the home of Xenophilius Lovegood, and he leaned against the stone railing, his head resting apathetically on his elbow. He wondered if Luna had heard anything about her father or about her house since the incident; surely she must have by now, Harry figured.

"You don't have to waste your time worrying about me," Harry said, with a trace of irritation he hadn't intended.

"Oh, I know, but I've nothing better to do. It's a mess to get into the Ravenclaw commons at the moment, there's a right crowd drinking and celebrating. I wish they would be a bit more controlled, but it is a momentous occasion."

"I suppose it is," Harry said, still looking off into the sky, then added, "of course it is. The wizarding world won't have to live in fear any more, I imagine, as long as they clean the Ministry up a bit. Voldemort's finally gone…"

"Daddy will be pleased when he hears, he always thought Voldemort was a bit of a nutter—an 'oddball', I believe he called him, not to his face of course, that would be silly—"

Harry laughed quickly. "Yeah. I guess the celebration must be excellent. I almost wish I didn't feel much like being alone."

"Everybody has their moments. You've every right to be alone," Luna said, and from anyone else the words would have sounded haughty, but it was only Luna, and Harry knew Luna enough to know she didn't think herself better than anyone. Harry, in fact, was always under the impression that Luna only really worked herself up over the things in her own world.

"I'm going to miss coming here to Hogwarts," Harry said. "I think it's the only place I've ever felt truly at home."

"Hmm…" Luna tilted her head to one head, her eyes wide. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I never knew about Hogwarts. Funny name for a school, isn't it? My father doesn't think so, but I think it's a bit funny. Before I came here I was always lonely, every since my mum died," she said, slowly and deliberately, with her usual faraway tone as though her every thought floated around to her on the backs of clouds. "Oh, but don't worry," she said quickly, as though Harry were about to protest and cry over her (when in reality he hadn't the strength), "Everyone gets lonely sometimes. I'm sure my mother would be right proud of us, and of course my father is,"

Harry stood up and turned to face her.

"You've really enjoyed your time here as well, then?" Harry said, more a statement than a question.

"Oh, yes. I've made so many good memories here. I'll treasure everyone I've met forever, and it's such a shame that so many people I've known will be leaving for good. Dean, and Neville, and Ron Weasley, and Hermione, and you, Harry. It's so much better to go about if you have friends with you."

Harry smiled, remembering the pictures he had seen in her room. He felt the same. "And what do you do when you're at home? Are you ever lonely there?" he asked, trying to put the images of the ruined Lovegood residence out of his mind.

"Well, I talk to the fish in the brook, and I talk to my plants in the garden. I'd like to think I could understand them when I'm talking in my garden; it's so pleasant there. I don't have any Portuguese Whispering-Shrubs, so I suppose the other people who come by think I'm loony," she explained, nonchalant as ever, looking from the sky to the hallway to the sky again; for others a sign of boredom, but for Luna only a quick chance of scene.

_And they're not the only ones who call you "loony", either, _Harry said, and this time he felt a sharp twang of anger—powerful, yet far from the scar-searing rage of Voldemort. It was an indignant feeling, a feeling of 'how could they, why would they'; Harry couldn't count all the times he had heard 'loony' and 'Lovegood' in the same sentence. Normally it didn't bother him, it had always been that way, ever since he had met her, and she didn't seem to mind the moniker at all, and that was why it bothered him. It didn't matter to her, or maybe she wouldn't admit it, or maybe she didn't care, and that was why it was awful, and that was why before he could think about it his left hand had scrunched into a fist, tucked away in the dark where no one could see, angry at everyone who had ever berated her—including himself. He looked over at Luna, who still leaned against the railing, swaying from side to side, watching the top of the forest intently, her wide eyes flitting back and forth, left and right.

"I don't think you're loony," Harry said hastily, and turned to her. "I've—I've heard people say that talking to plants helps them grow better. Er, some Muggle families think so."

"Oh, of course. It's the only kind of magic Muggles believe in," Luna said, always nonchalant, and with little pause, continued, "exhaling releases carbon dioxide, which helps stimulate the plants' growth."

"Do you know much about Muggle sciences, Luna?" Harry asked, realizing that he was genuinely interested to know.

"Oh, yes, I've always found it fascinating how wizards and Muggles live so differently. My mother owned several Muggle books. I used to spend hours in my room reading. That's how I learned about so many of the fascinating magical creatures in the world." Luna looked over at Harry, her eyes wide and beady with a dreamy, excited look as she talked. "In my mother's old books, that's where I learned about the Crumple-Horned Snorkcack, and the Welsh Wall-Climbers, and all the exotic, esoteric magical creatures in Asia—you know, there are a lot of fascinating creatures living in Japan and China, so—"

"Were those the only books your mother owned?" Harry interrupted, afraid she would lose herself completely in one of her tangents and forget where she was going with her thoughts.

"Oh, no," Luna said, shaking her head unnecessarily vigorously. "My mother owned loads of books, lots. After she died, my father gave many of them to our family friends who didn't have many books. He said reading them made him cry. Maybe they were sad novels."

Harry looked away and instantly felt a twang of pity for her father Xenophilius; after all, he had done what he'd done because the Death Eaters had taken Luna, and with her being so like her mother, it would be like losing a wife over again. In a way, Harry thought, feeling a sudden needle-ripple of guilt, it was partially his fault—after all, he was the one that _The Quibbler_ had adovcated helping, and he was the one the Death Eaters wanted to snuff out. To Luna, whom Harry knew loved her parents dearly, it was just another stroke of misfortune she took in stride, and he wondered whether in her heart she hurt, hurt like he did, knew the hurt he had known.

It was horrible, Harry realized, but it became clear, seeing Luna completely in the bright moonlight, that he had never thought of Luna as a girl, never as a person, but as an oddity, a stereotype sitting in the corner. She was the silly girl who always thought of the strangest things, who always looked as though she were staring off into space, eyes always opened wide, as if breathing in _everything_ through her retinas. She was the stranger from a strange land, willing to believe anything she could truly wrap her mind around, willing to believe anything of which there was even a sliver of evidence, willing to believe in _him_, when even the Ministry had thought him unstable.

No, Harry realized, she had never been a girl to him, not a person, but she was always there, always friendly to him, even though everywhere she went there were people gawking, people snickering or whispering behind her back, having their daily bits of fun at her expense, unbeknownst to her. She was the outcast, like he was, but she was a bit player and he was the star, she was the extra with the shiny, perky hair, she was the one standing on the road stroking the thestrals' heads while everyone pointed and stared, and the only thing he had thought at the time was that he hoped he wasn't crazy like her. Did she know? Did she know he thought of her this way, and if she did, would she still be standing there, so quick to call him friend? No. She didn't know. She couldn't. She didn't, and that was what made Harry feel so horrible.

"Harry?" Luna said. "Are you feeling well?"

Harry shook his head; now he was the one looking off into space. Normally there was no one else around to bother him when he lost himself in thought. There was always a recall in the quieter times, when everything returned to Harry in a flash of chalky white: Cedric, Sirius, Voldemort, Dumbledore falling, and there was never anyone there to bring him back from his thoughts, no one to snap him out of it. For a moment it seemed almost unreal, as if he wasn't even there, as if Luna, Luna with the silvery-blonde hair was only a spirit, the ghost of his mother, or perhaps the ghost of hers. The din of the celebration had spread outside, and there were chants of "Boy Who Lived" that carried up to the balcony, but it all seemed so faraway, so unimportant, so hollow.

"What? Yes—yes, of course I'm fine. Thank you," Harry said, turning away, out towards the balcony. These weren't the feelings he could easily spill to his friends, not to Ron and Hermione, they had enough on their plates without having to worry about his problems.

"I know this must be tough," Luna said at last, and Harry turned back to her, surprised. "If it were me," Luna continued, walking closer to Harry, eyes gleaming in the night, strands hair falling in her face, "I wouldn't know what to feel. You're really a peculiar person, Harry."

Harry opened his mouth and found nothing. She stood no more than two feet away from him, looking up at him with her head ever so slightly tilted to one side, even now seeming to sway gently from left to right. Harry felt his face flush, and he felt hot even as a cool breeze rustled in and out through the night; he didn't understand it, didn't try to understand it, couldn't even think straight. She was only looking at him, after all, looking as Luna always did, with a soft look—distant, as though she were looking through him at something else, far, far away. She had a good listening look on her face. He was glad she was still here.

"But," Luna said, and Harry's eyes jerked from the floor to her face, "it's really a happy time now. We're all safe. We've won. I don't think it would do if you didn't smile." Luna smiled.

"After all this time," Harry said, and there wasn't any hesitation in his voice, "you can still smile? After everything, all the pain, all the trouble, we've—_I've_ put you—put _everyone _through, you can still smile?" Harry could barely comprehend anything he was saying, they were just words, they were coming as freely and as honestly as they had the night he had confronted Lupin, and it didn't matter because her eyes knew, they knew, they knew everything he was and everything he felt, and everything he thought, and everything that had ever happened because it was her, her, she who was the same as he was, same as she would always be, her, her and it was always something, it was always—

"Something," Harry said—nearly yelled—and he placed his hands on Luna's shoulders, trembling. "It was _always_ something, always someone, Lupin, or Ron, or the bloody Ministry, always running off, running away afraid to lose, afraid to lose something!" His voice had quickly raised in volume, and Luna narrowed her eyes and watched his face as he talked, quiet.

"And it was always all of them who were scared, the lot of them!" Harry yelled, turning his head away at the loudest parts to spare Luna's ears, then turning back to look her in the eyes. He was angry. Anger. Anger, anger, it was always anger, and this time he didn't know why he was angry after he had just emerged victorious, free, smiling, finally happy and now here he was, back again, angry again, the emotion bursting out. "They were all so bloody stupid! They tried to smile but they were always nipping at each other's throats, they didn't understand what it meant to love someone and lose someone, and—and what it meant to—to—to look Death in the eye and _smile_! They didn't know what it meant to fight, they never ever knew how I felt! They didn't understand. They don't understand a damned thing at all and now it's all...over." Cold tears streamed down Harry's face, and when he had finished speaking he released his light grip on Luna's shoulders and pursed his lips, trying fruitlessly to stop crying, stop being weak, stop being foolish.

There was a loud silence, and Harry felt awkward, embarrassed, and he wished he hadn't even said anything. This was a happy moment, he knew, and he was angry at himself for being so selfish, for turning the focus to him, for breaking down when he should be celebrating.

Then, in a small, tender voice, Luna said, "I understand, Harry."

Harry quickly wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and looked over at her. "Luna…Luna, you don't-"

"Obviously it's not the same, but I suppose I felt a bit the same knowing my mum died, seeing everyone in the Ravenclaw commons walk about," she said, calmly, as she always did, but there was an extra somberness in her voice, a _slight_ something, as changes in Luna's intonation were always subtle. "People always talked about how they missed their parents, of course, and I always sent an owl home to Daddy, and for a while I sent an owl to my mother too, but I don't think she got my messages. That's okay, though."

Harry bit his lip. His heart pounded in his chest. He knew that he sympathized with her, a sympathy he had long wished that someone else would give him, the tenderness that no one else, not even Sirius, could give.

"Of course it was dreadful. I loved my mama very dearly," Luna continued, still looking at Harry, whose eyes were transfixed on hers. "But it's okay. I know she wants me to be happy, wherever she is now. I still have a picture of her in my room."

Harry again remembered Luna's room and the picture of a young, well-dressed Luna standing next to a startlingly-similar looking woman. He remembered the pictures of all her friends and the subtle blue tones of the floor, and he felt a sentimental feeling fall on his chest like a weight.

"Luna, I lost my parents at a young age," Harry said, though he knew she already knew. Everyone knew. He didn't have any secrets left. His entire life had been a fantasy of the newspapers. "All I _have_ are pictures. My entire family is gone, and now…"

Harry closed his mind and the images of his parents, and Sirius, and everyone he had ever loved flashed in his sight like a thunderbolt, but he still felt empty. There was one part of him that was not with him, that he had lived with every since he was a little boy, before he knew he was a wizard, before he knew that he was destined to conquer the greatest evil of all time—

"Voldemort!" Harry cried, and Luna flinched, startled. "He—when I died, he died within me. Ever since I was a baby, part of his soul has been inside me, and now it's gone, and—" Harry put his hands up in the air and walked over to the balcony, and he slammed his hands against the stone railing, wanting to scream madly, and shook his head, "and it sounds crazy, but there's a part of me that still feels empty. I don't know why. I don't miss him. Tom Riddle was a madman, so I don't know why—you probably think I'm mad," he added, turning to the right where Luna had slowly sidled up next to him.

After a moment, Luna said, "I don't think you're mad, Harry," and she reached her hand out and gingerly took his, curling her fingers around his palm. Her hand was soft and smooth, her fingers tender, gently rubbing against his, and he felt warmth. "You're far too difficult on yourself. If I lost such a big part of myself, I'd probably feel empty, too. My father always told me 'you never know what you have until you lose it'." Luna looked down and reached out her other hand to grab his free hand in hers. "I think he was right."

It didn't make sense, Harry thought, his eyes—his mother's eyes—looking into Luna's eyes—_her_ mother's eyes. It didn't make sense that she could understand his feelings any more than anyone else could, more than Ron could, more than Hermione could, more than Ginny could, more than any one of those who still celebrated in the grounds below, cheering and making merry. The idea of it was lunacy, Harry thought. It humbled him thinking that he would ever see eye-to-eye with Luna, not literally and certainly not figuratively, not with her, not with the spacey eccentric girl who believed the unbelievable and turned to face the strange.

But maybe he was crazy too, he thought, his heart beating faster than it ever had before, his hands still holding tenderly onto hers, her head tilted as if wondering what he might be thinking through the silence. Maybe she was crazy, but maybe he was crazy too, and maybe she would laugh at all the crazy things he laughed at and cry at all the silly things he cried at. It made sense, he supposed, and he felt a sudden surge of good feeling through his body. He shivered.

Before he could think about anything else, Harry released his grip on Luna's hands, and reached around into her hair, placing his hands against the back of her neck, and he leaned forward and kissed her. For a moment, Luna seemed surprised, then her eyes closed and her shoulders relaxed. Harry's mind went blank, not thinking of anything that had plagued him recently, not the thoughts of his dead relatives nor of the chalky, serpentine face of Voldemort nor of the frightening thought of Ginny, alone sobbing, as though there were no one who would ever love her—

Harry could feel Luna's arms reaching under his, around his back, her fingers interlocking, pulling him close but not too close. Her lips were tender, soft, never fully pressing against his, he could feel them nipping slightly on his own and it seemed so like her, he knew, that she would never jump onto him, never force herself onto him, always subtle. Her lips nipped on his lower lip and after a moment he drew back, slowly opening his eyes and seeing hers, open wide, blinking quickly, staring at him.

It wasn't the same feeling as when he had kissed Cho, wasn't the feeling he felt when he kissed Ginny, it wasn't the same, it was _different_. It _felt_ different, Harry understood. There wasn't a sudden feeling of desire, there was no _need_ to be close to her, to kiss her furiously, to feel her skin all over from head to toe and back again, and there was no guilt, no buried urge to undress her and be done with it. He felt calm. He felt liberated, and it felt nice.

"That was nice," Luna said at last, after the silence that neither intended but neither could break. "I—don't know what to say."

"I-I'm sorry," Harry blurted, without knowing to whom he really wanted to apologize. It all felt so right, and at the same time he was prickled with the feeling that it wasn't right. There had been a time when he saw Ginny Weasley and thought he had always needed her, and he could almost hear Ron's voice pounding in his ears: '_You damned bloody git! You betrayed her! I told you not to play around with my sister and get her hopes up!'_

"Why are you sorry?" Luna said, and Harry realized that she genuinely didn't know.

"Luna," Harry said, pausing, fumbling for her hands in the dark, "I—look, don't—don't leave, don't go away, please," and he looked into her eyes and saw they were wondering why, her head gently tilting to one side as if she were thinking deeply. "There's something I have to do, something I have to explain to someone right now. I'm sorry. I'll see you again soon. Please,"

Harry released her hands slowly, took a step back and turned around.

"Harry?" Luna said as he swept away, in the direction she had come, in the direction of the Great Hall. Her voice was still calm, genial, and for the first time, her dreamy, almost singsong voice comforted him.

"Yes?" Harry said, turning back.

"Please smile, Harry. It wouldn't do for you to frown on such a happy day."

It took him a moment, but he smiled, and she smiled back. There were so many people he had to explain himself to, Harry thought as he turned away, because he didn't know what he had really wanted, what he had really felt, and he knew he had to explain himself—to Ginny, to Ron, and to everyone. But it was all right, he consoled himself, because Luna seemed to understand, she believed in him no matter what anyone said, and she knew, as well as she could, what it felt like to be him. She empathized. Walking away, walking back through the halls so familiar to him, Harry realized that was all he had ever wanted.


End file.
